


Thick as Blood

by spellitwithyourpeas



Series: Bruised, Not Broken [2]
Category: Daredevil (TV)
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-07-14
Updated: 2016-07-14
Packaged: 2018-07-23 21:17:22
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 6,228
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7480386
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/spellitwithyourpeas/pseuds/spellitwithyourpeas
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Her dreams were still haunted by men with sneering voices and heavy punches. Sometimes the pain or the breathlessness felt so real that she woke gasping for air.<br/>The exchange of softly spoken words? That came after. When it was too late to go back, too late to forget the taste of him, the way his touch unraveled her and the stillness and calm that moved through them.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. To want is what bodies do

**Author's Note:**

> An unintended, (and mini) sequel to Hotel Rooms & Headlights. Picks up from where that story left off, but with a little more uncertainty.

 

_"(but listen, quietly,_

_to want is what bodies do_

_and now we are ghosts only)"_

_\- Marina Tsvetaeva_

Her coworkers looked at her with weary eyes when she returned the office. It bothered her. Made her feel like the smile she returned should have been weak, like she should have cast her eyes down in embarrassment.

Karen thought that was a load of bullshit.

She held her head high instead and met their gaze with a confident smile. The story of what went down in Boston circled through _The Bulletin’s_ office like wildfire. The fact the fact that it was Karen Page-new hire, no journalism degree, trying to fill too big of shoes-well, it caused some doubt to bury itself within her. Planted down deep in a way that it felt like she had to throw all her weight into pulling the root out.

She had her formal meeting with HR with Ellison at her side, acting as a mediator and a friend. They assigned her updated trainings and reemphasized policy. As dry as it was, the reality check felt warranted.

The fluff pieces, however, were taking their own toll-even Ellison gave her an apologetic look.

Safe to say it wasn’t just the change in stories that had her feeling off. Actually, she could say with one hundred percent certainty it had to do with the fact that she was still reeling from the trauma of the beating. That was the major factor.

The other minor contribution came from Frank Castle.

A rosy flush graced her cheeks and she glanced away from the copy machine and over her shoulder.

She and her blush were safe.

Sleeping with him had been right. It was almost like she had stopped thinking and let inertia take its course. The exchange of softly spoken words? That came after. When it was too late to go back, too late to forget the taste of him, the way his touch unraveled her and the stillness and calm that moved through them.

It wasn’t something she had planned, sure…she’d thought about it, but it truly was without cause other than the moment felt right.

And that was dangerous. This deep sense that she had to follow him till the end. That feeling? Like a wave crashing upon the sand. The impact and then the reel of the tide.

Regret certainly had a place in her life, but sleeping with him? Her feelings for him? Karen didn’t regret those actions.

The real question that she wanted answers to was did he?

She took her copies back to her desk and sat with a sigh, leaning back in her chair.

The image was pristine and pressed in her mind. The morning streaming in through her blinds, casting a light over her bruises while he lay still. His words were a confession that carried their own weight, no matter how carefree he sounded in the moment, she knew the road ahead was rocky. With him it always would be.

As she traced the sutures under her hairline (only barely tender now) she wondered thoughts that  made her brow wrinkle and stomach churn.

Now that the rush of adrenaline had passed, the pain faded, and things were returning to normal what if…what if that intimacy they shared had just been momentary and not the beginning she’d hoped for.

Shit, it was easy to get caught up in him and forget. He told her he’d stop by soon, but how would he greet her? With a smile and a touch or with an uneasy glance and an apology.

Karen straightened in the chair and resumed typing. Her probation period was over in two weeks and she was counting down every damn day.

It’s not that she wouldn’t fight for him. But she needed to look in his eyes. See if there was a sign of the briefest bit of light she saw that morning.

 Or had it been all been a dream to him? One he could forget if he tried hard enough.

She would fight, if there was anything left to fight for.


	2. Isn't it exhausting

_"‘Isn’t it exhausting?’_

_‘What?’_

_‘Keeping people out.’"_

_\- K.A. Tucker,_

He woke to the sounds of the city and the sound of the creaking whir of the ceiling fan in his shitty one room apartment. Blinking to alertness, his brow furrowed until his brain caught up with what he inherently knew.

He wasn't home.

This place? Merely a holding ground. A place for planning, for counting bullets and pulling the edges of bloody skin back together, for three or four-hours’ worth of sleep (hardly a reprieve).

Home.

On the drive back, she had used the word…so common place, but so heavy on his tongue (and he suspected hers as well).

This place of his…. not a home, simply a space.

Frank hadn’t been there for a few days, not since getting back from Karen’s, and it bore no semblance to her apartment with the yellow paint covering the wall that had since been repaired. Books and keepsakes lined her shelves and the place so alive with color and her presence.

His: old cans of food left on the fold up table, a duffle bag (packed and ready to go) at the end of his cot, guns and ammo stacked high across the small room.

Empty and temporary. A meager state of being only amplified by his own restlessness.

Except…except for one picture. Handed over in a moment of mercy. It was stashed under his pillow. He would reach for it almost every night, getting as far as to grasp it between his fingers, but something…something always made him let go.

When he walked back in after a week of being gone, it was the first item he checked. He leaned over the cot and his fingertips searched for the photo. He didn’t know how he would have reacted if he’d lost it for good. The photo helped ground the pieces he had (and shit he didn’t have much).

Frank reached under his pillow and drew out the picture staring at the faces that haunted his dreams. They were smiling here.  And it hurt as he tried to remember details that faded with time, brain injury or not.

When didn’t it hurt?

_When you’re with her._

The thought snuck its way in before he could stop it.

Was there any point in stopping it? He’d crossed boundaries he’d told himself he would never cross again.

_You see I’ll never feel that again._

Shit.

He wanted to call it a moment of weakness, but there had been moments, plural.

People thought men like him didn’t care about much of anything. The problem was he cared. He cared too fucking much.

And that made him look down. At his wife and children. Frank wasn’t a religious man, not anymore, but part of him wondered…if maybe they were looking down at him from a better place (he hoped). He wondered if the scattered thoughts carried the voices of his family, telling him that this calling wasn’t one they asked of him.

He slid the photograph back under his pillow and scrubbed his face with his rough palms.

He told her he’d check in on her in a couple of days. Give both of them a chance to process whatever the hell just happened between them.

When he thought of Karen Page, he thought of an equal. Frank saw her. Saw a lot she probably tried to hide.

She had a softness about her, he didn’t mean she was weak…she wasn’t. Hell, if Boston taught him anything it was that she had more balls than him.

No, maybe not softness…. there was a goodness to her. She looked for the best in people. Frank realized that soon after she was chasing after Grotto. Seemed like she saw something in lost cause. What that something was he didn’t know.

 All he knew was that she’d follow that something into the darkest of corners.

And that scared him more than he was willing to admit.

That night with her, he surrendered what little he had to offer. Aside from a body riddled with scars and bones knitted back together in an uneven pattern there wasn’t much.

He quit staring at the ceiling and dressed and decided he’d stop by that evening. Even if it was for her to know she was safe. It was important to him that she knew that. Get this settled and pick back up where he left off before Boston.

But first he had to see a man about a dog.

 

 


	3. A fire that consumes me

_"It is a fire that consumes me, but I am the fire."_

_\- Jorge Luis Borges_

She didn’t have to wait long before he knocked at her door. The bruises were back, a shadow of a skull painted his face.

His eyes flickered over her and she had the thought that in his own way, Frank probably could read her just as accurately as Matt could, even with all his heightened senses.

“Hey,” it was soft and inviting, and he ducked his head, losing the cap as he stepped through her doorway  into the apartment. A soft glow lit the room and he felt that warmth again. Felt calm. Like maybe for another moment he could relax, loosen tense muscles, abandon the racing thoughts and focus on what was right in front of him.

“Ma’am”

Karen smiled and scrunched up her nose, “You’ve seen me naked, I think you can dispense with the Ma’am now.”

He chuckled and followed her into the kitchen, “Not gonna be that easy.” The comment on her nudity prompted no reaction, well not one that he let her see.

She reached up and opened the cabinet, grabbing two mugs, and turned to face him, “It’s good to see you Frank..I-,” the empty mugs occupied her gaze as Karen stumbled over her words, “I wasn’t sure if you’d come back…after.”

“Here now. You want me to make the coffee?”

He was already walking over to the sink, filling up the pot. She leaned into the counter, watching him work. Frank glanced up, feeling eyes on him.

“You uh, back to work? Been doing ok?”

She groaned and told him that she feels like she’s back right where she started. The stranger. The newbie. Told him how her current assignments made her wish she could get excited about menial stories. At least just to make the time go by faster.

Karen doesn’t tell him that she’s already started looking into a new lead preparing for her reinstatement.

(He could have guessed that).

Frank hands her a full mug and asked to check her stitches, but she waved him away, “Later.”

She sat at the table with the steaming coffee and sighsed with content at the smell of the dark roast. It calmed and quieted her.

“You know I worked in a coffee shop once.” He took a sip and his lips turned up in a small smile at her expression. “Don’t look so surprised.”

Karen shook her head, “No, it’s just,” she shrugged with a grin, “hard to imagine.”

“I was seventeen, thought I’d get all the girls.” He tapped a finger against the table “I didn’t. If that was your next question.”

“It was.” She pressed a finger to her lips as she thought back. “God, seventeen….right. I was waitressing at this awful, awful restaurant in my home town.  I can’t believe they never shut that place down. You know they actually fired me.”

“No shit?”

“I made a terrible waitress.”

“Better stick with reporting then Page.”

It felt natural and right. It wasn’t until the coffee had cooled and the night had crept when he insisted again on checking the state of her healing wounds, bound to scar. She sat quietly as his fingers pressed against her ribs after she lifted her blouse high. A wince ran through her and he paused, mumbling, “Sorry.”

He moved on and she cleared her throat, “How about you? What’s the story behind those?” Karen gestured to the bruises.

He helped pull the blouse down, hiding her bruised ribs once again. “These? Just some trouble getting my dog back.”

Her pointed glare and raised eyebrows told him he wasn’t getting away with the simple answer. Frank told her about the Pit sleeping with a fully belly back at his apartment. When he finished his story about tracking down the shitheads that had him, he glanced up at her bemused expression and asked, “Do you… like dogs?”

“I love dogs.”

There’s a pause before Frank responded with a story about the golden he grew up with as a child. Karen listened with rapt attention, as she always did when he spoke like this. His eyes soft and tone light.

She had been wanting an answer to her questions and realized that she wasn’t going to get one. Not tonight, at least. Maybe not for a while

He wasn’t so lost that he couldn’t give her one, but it wasn’t going to happen tonight.

 They spoke a while longer before Frank glanced at his watch with a sigh, “I’d better get going.” Frank stood and washed his cup in the sink before he headed to the door.

She wanted to make a light hearted comment like, “duty calls” but it felt cheap. An insult. So she sat silently at the table, a hand wrapped around her mug like it was a security blanket, and nodded with a small smile.

He stopped at the door, “I’ll come round soon…if you want.”

“I’d like that Frank.”

He left with a nod and shut the door quietly.

 Karen rubbed her eyes. She knew it wasn’t really about the sex. They were both adults. It was the right decision, at least for her it was. Whether he thought so, that was his own business. She knew that this all was…overwhelming for him. For many reasons.

 But for her, she was glad it happened.

He had been gentle with her, more than she would have liked, but her body ached and his hands had been soft. They had moved slowly, setting an unhurried pace

It was good…. really good. She shivered at the memory of it all. _Get it together Karen. Pull your shit together._ She stood and busied herself in the kitchen with the question of when and if she’ll get to feel his weight again, feel his skin flush against hers, hear his ragged breaths mix with her own.

_Not helping._

Karen abandoned the stack of dishes and sat back on her couch with her laptop open to her latest piece. Maybe throwing herself into the passionless article would help offset the blush that was brightening her cheeks.


	4. Still is

_"It has been a beautiful fight. Still is."_

_\- Charles Bukowski_

 

Karen woke up on her couch, her eyes bleary with sleep. She paused mid movement, checking her phone. There was one text, a blip on her notifications.

“I’ll bring the coffee this time.”

She smiled. It wasn’t much, but it was something in the right direction, forward at least. It was a slow morning and she was thankful for it. Her hands still shook at when she turned out the lights at night, she still woke to shuddered breaths, and no matter how hard she squeezed her eyes shut, the images, the pain, and the fear came rushing back.

So when she finished the article and emailed it in, she took a minute to breath. Reset.  

Ellison had suggested she take advantage of the mental health coverage that came with her insurance package and honestly, she was considering it. The thought of unloading her baggage to a stranger was less than appealing, but that didn’t mean she couldn’t be selective about what she shared. In any case, there was only so much shit she could process on her own.

Karen dressed and packed her bag. There was a small café she liked to work out of when the office felt too busy and her apartment felt like a cage.  

She was a block from the café when she saw Matt walking towards her, his cane sweeping side to side in a steady pattern. She figured he was giving her a chance to pretend she didn’t see him, to act like passing strangers in the crowd. Hard to miss him though. He looked tired-more so than he usually did. A steri-strip covered a cut across his cheek. The red of his glasses bright in the morning light.

He was dressed casually, the lack of the suit jarring. She wondered what he was doing now that Nelson and Murdock had been reduced to a series of empty rooms sure to be covered in the dust of the dismal building she once thought of as home.

More than tired…he looked sad. Frank’s words came to mind, _“All I’m saying is right now, maybe he could use a friend. Just a friend._

Karen cleared her throat and approached him, “Hi Matt.”

He looked surprised, “Karen. How are you? I heard…”

“I’m doing ok. The paper has been really understanding.” She glanced at the strangers shouldering past them.

He nodded, biting his lip. She almost smiled, holding back a speech probably.

And suddenly it felt so easy, to take him by the arm and talk as a friend, not a former almost lover. “Matt, I’m heading over to do some work at _Bella’s_ just around the corner, do you want to join me for some coffee? Catch up?”

She wouldn’t take back the words she said in anger because she didn’t regret them. But if she could let Frank Castle back in her life, maybe she could do the same for Matt Murdock.

As a friend.

The ache in the pit of her stomach wasn’t one of longing or from nervous butterflies. This time it was only one of hunger because she forgot to eat breakfast before she left.

“Yeah, Karen. I’d like that.”

They walked, her arm in his. He hardly needed the help, but old habits die hard, even if now it was just for appearances sake.

There was a trace of awkwardness as they sat across from each other. A silence set in after they had ordered their coffee, an uncertainty of where to begin.

Karen thought acknowledgement was a safe start. “I’m sorry about Elektra, Matt.” Foggy had filled her in a couple of weeks ago.

He took a breath, “Thank you Karen.” She nodded, knowing this time there was no need to interject that she had, in fact, just nodded.

They made small talk, warming up to each other’s presence before he asked for more detail about Boston. Pressed her, really, about the story and about her companion for the short trip that ended with a front page story and her ass in the hospital.

He listened with gritted teeth and a perturbed expression. When she finishesd he lets out a quick breath and raised his eyebrows, his tone forcibly light, “So, you and Frank?”

Karen shifted in her seat, “Yeah. Don’t ask me what we are or if I’m crazy because I can’t give you an answer at this point. It just….is what it is.” She glanced out the window, taken with the bustle of movement before she added, “And I’m happy with my decision. That’s all I can say.”

At her words, Matt folded his hands and leaned in, “But Karen, don’t you think you deserve something more…stable?”

Karen shrugged and took a sip of her coffee, “I don’t know if it’s what I deserve, but it’s what I want.”

Matt leaned back, tapping a finger to his cup, “Alright then. No arguing with you is there?”

She laughed, “No, no there isn’t.”

They chat a few minutes longer. She learned that he had received a substantial deposit to his bank account after Elektra’s death, so he was in no rush to find a day job (though he said he missed being a lawyer). Karen knew there was “with Foggy” at the end of that sentence…maybe even a “with you” too.

The conversation winded down and he rose to stand, thanking her for talking with him and she assured him that she was glad that she did. While watching him walk away, Karen couldn’t help, but wince at how formal their interaction had felt. She did miss him. He was Matt. Sweet, funny, conflicted, and also the man dressed in black. From the very beginning…it had always been him.

Pushing the nostalgia aside, she opened her email, reading over her next assignment. She brightened, they wanted a short piece about the new farmer’s market. No corrupt city official, but more her style than the previous one.

Karen worked through the afternoon scheduling interviews and reading up about the organizers. The busy work distracted her from the vigilantes in her life.


	5. I fear you close by

_"I fear you close by; I love you far away."_

_\- Friedrich Nietzsche_

To his credit, he still brought coffee. There was a small first aid kit tucked into one of the large pockets of his jacket (the summer heat didn’t bother him much since his tours in the middle east) and a sheepish expression when Karen opened her door with a smile.

She took the cups from him, setting them on the counter before she turned to him, arms folded and suspicious. He held himself differently in the shoulders, slumped to the side.

“What’s wrong?”

Frank sighed, shrugging out of the jacket before sitting down. “Took a hit in my back. You got steady hands Page?”

Karen glanced at the blooming red under his left shoulder blade on his grey t-shirt. She swallowed thickly. _Better get used to it. This won’t be the last time._

“Yeah, yeah I do.” Her mouth set in a hard line. At his direction, she pulled out the small black bag out from the garment splayed on her kitchen table.

He looked in her blue eyes and saw a sign of strength and set determination. The look that kept him coming back. “Good.”

“I’m going to get some towels. You going to talk me through this or should I get YouTube all buffered up?” She called out, only half-joking.

Frank cracked a small smile, “I’ll walk you through it, but if you’re a visual learner then pull that shit up.”

She disappeared into her bedroom to dig through her linen closet. Frank peeled off his gear and the stained garment before he straddled the chair, leaning against the back of it. Her hair was up in a messy bun when she returned along with the soapy washcloths and a towel

Karen donned the gloves in the bag and sets to work silently, focused on following his instructions. His voice, low and calm.

Her hands didn't shake. The time passed slowly as she bent to slide the needle through his skin. She winced for him. Occasionally the muscles under her touch, quiver. When she got used to the fine movements required of her, she let the moment stay quiet and undisturbed. She tied the last stitch with a sniff and doffed the gloves.

“How’d it turn out?” He asked lowly.

She pursed her lips as she critiqued her work, “Could be worse, I guess.” Karen moved to walk past him.

But he caught her hand with a quiet, “Hey”. She froze when he planted a kiss on the inside of her wrist, and he saw her close her eyes at the brush of his lips.

The softest touch from a man shaped by the brutality of fate. She wants this. Wants him. Wants all of it.

The plea slipped out from her, “Stay.” The desire spilling out with the word.

He squeezed her hand before he stood, carefully putting his shirt back on. “Can’t tonight.” She watched him gather his things. The two coffee cups lukewarm on the counter by now. As much as she understood his reservations…understood the pain that stirred in his bones, a pain deeper than the visceral twinge currently radiating down his shoulder…it didn’t make the push and pull any easier.

 “Do you regret it?” She asked quietly.

“What’s that?” he asked gruffly as he slid the jacket back on. Karen exhaled with a shake of her head, “C’mon Frank.” She straightened, “Do you regret fucking me?” It was cold. If she whittled it down she’d chalk it up as a form of personal preservation. An attempt to have control over an unknown response.

He stiffened at her choice of words, “That what you think that was?” His tone dark, maybe even offended. Expression stern as he met her gaze.

“I don’t know what to think anymore.” There was honesty in her admission.

And it was in that moment he saw it. In her loosely held arms, in the avoidance of her gaze, and  in the hollowness to her tone.

She was preparing herself. Readying herself for when he walked away.

He wondered how close he was to falling into that category of men in her life who were so damaging as she once described.

He didn’t want to see her crack under the weight. Fuck, he’d seen it all building these past couple months, especially in the past two weeks.

She had her own ghosts. Her own scars. There was a fear that was tangible. That she’d be abandoned, once again, among the shards of glass scattered on the road. Left to pick up the pieces, alone.

He couldn’t know how after she’d packed away files in a box, she gave one last sweeping look around the office that once was her home. A place that had held hope when she was without. Couldn’t know that the click of closing the door finalized that she had lost her fight at mending her friend’s wounds.

Even Karen Page couldn’t withstand all that force pressing down. He didn’t want to be the one that dipped the scale closer to her breaking point.

The realization came like the shock of a live wire. It was a feeling reminiscent of the tremor that ran through him when he stepped through the threshold into his home. The flicker of a flame.

Maybe the answer didn’t lie in destruction this time.

Frank took a step towards her and gently tucked a stray strand of blond aside, “What do you want from me?”

It was calmly asked, his tone even. Karen hadn’t expected the question and her expression softened, “For you…” She grimaced at her words, thinking of their misguided hopefulness. Karen sighed and finished her thought, “For you to find some peace in this world.”

Frank gave a small shake of his head, and listened to her continue, “I know. I know this” she gestured at the gear leaning against her kitchen table, _”_ is what you have to do. And I don’t like it. But I understand, ok? I understand.”

She ended in a whisper and he saw her lip tremble before she snagged it between her teeth, as she waited for his answer.

He believed her. “Yeah, you’ve got the understanding of a saint.” He sighed and trailed a hand through his short hair-the military cut freshly done. “I don’t regret it, Karen. It’s just…getting close again,” Frank’s voice grew rough, “…I didn’t expect that. Hell, I didn’t want it. But I don’t regret it. I don’t regret _this_.”

Karen looked up and knew it was settled. There was something final in his statement that she could trust. She swallowed, not used to being the one lost for words. Karen nodded and took a small step towards him. He made a low sound at her hesitancy and pulled her close, kissing her none too gently.

Her stomach dropped as if she was on the old roller coasters she loved so much as a teenager. With hands knotted against his neck she leaned in, pressing herself to him. His lips shaped words he couldn’t speak. He groaned and she rolled into him, his hands finding her waist. Karen broke first, breath ragged, as she rested her forehead against his.

She gave a small laugh, “Are you sure you can’t stay the night?”

His thumb brushed a reassuring pattern on the skin of her hip, her shirt bunched high. Frank took in her flushed cheeks and dark eyes, “Afraid so. Tomorrow, yeah?”

Karen smiled, “Yes.”

Rest came easy that night and even better the next night with him at her side.


	6. My heart, a room no doors

_"My boarded-up head. My heart: a room, no doors."_

_\- Sierra DeMulder_

It was an evening,a week or so later, when he asked her for a favor. His tone terse and wired. Black circles dipped under his eyes and his hands held the faintest tremor to them. An anniversary haunted his thoughts, stealing his sleep.

Karen glanced up from her work at the table. She nodded, curious. When he handed her the photograph of his family, she took it from him slowly. “Frank…”

“I need you to hold onto it for me.”  The matter-a-fact and the dead look in his eyes made the action seem cold.

It was more than just the fear of losing it, she knew that. It was a calculated decision to return the last token of his family back into her hands.

He didn’t trust himself with their memory anymore. His fragile mind couldn’t fill in the blank spaces on his own. The frustration that accompanied that feeling of vulnerability was without comparison. His family…always out of reach.

She was the bridge. Frank didn’t have much gratitude left in him, but seeing her reacquaint herself with the picture she once stole left him feeling secure. Like one loose knot in his mind had been tightened.

In her hands, maybe his legacy of violence wouldn’t taint theirs.

Karen looked him in the eye, “I’ll keep it safe. I promise.”

He watched her walk over and crouch in front of her bookcase, drawing out a tattered copy from the shelf and opened to a page. Another photo already lay stashed between the pages. Karen paused briefly, taken with the image before she slid his in and closed the cover, slipping it back on the shelf.

Frank could have found answers. Could have them in an instant if he called the right person. But he wouldn’t do that to her.

Not all secrets had to be shared. Or should be.

 Some needed to stay buried.

Karen sat back into her chair. “It’s in To Kill a Mockingbird.” Her voice was hoarse, like she was holding back tears. There was a sense of trust instilled in her words. If he ever looked, she knew he’d see the picture of her and her brother tucked behind the one of his family.

The two of them standing side by side on their front lawn.

Her, in ripped jean shorts and a high school sweatshirt, planting a kiss on her brother’s cheek (much to his annoyance). 

It was a candid shot, slightly blurry. They had laughed about it after.

It wouldn’t mean anything to anyone, but it meant everything to her. It was rare that she took it out of it’s hiding place among the worn pages. It was rare, and not without it’s costs.  

Frank reached out and took her hand. She looked up, her eyes red with emotion.

 “I’ll be here. When you want to talk about it.”

Her thank you was a soft murmur as she brushed away the tears. His words an echo of a promise she knew he intended on keeping


	7. Very different things

_To know what a person has done, and to know who a person is, are very different things."_

_\- Hannah Kent_

**2 months later**

The panic set in on the drive up to his cabin. If a hit looked troublesome, like something chanced following him home, the plan was he would make his way to the woods. Frank always let her know.

Always.

It was mornings like this one that hit her with the hard force of fear. The kind that eats away at her peace of mind. The worry that whispers to her on the brink of sleep.  _He might not make it back._

And she wondered how Maria handled it. How she had managed to maintain a sense of bravery and control in front of the children when he was thousands of miles away facing the same unknown fate.

But this morning, when no text or knock came and the hours dragged on, she headed out to the one place she knew he would have gone.

Karen didn’t let her thoughts wander past the question of the condition she’d find him in. Rather an image of him buried under the blankets on the cot, lying still from exhaustion was on repeat.

She sighed with relief when she saw his truck parked.

She walked up the trail to the small lodging nestled among the trees. When she heard a bark, the tension slowly starts to fade. Karen knocked and walked in to find him, indeed, asleep. Soft snores mixed with the sound of Max’s tail wagging against the floor.

The dog rose to meet her and she gave him a quick rub on his head before she started for the cot, quietly calling out to the man. 

Eventually Frank woke, blurry eyed and slurred. There was a deep cut on his temple.

“Goddammit Frank.” It was a hiss under her breath as she pulled out the well-stocked first aid kit from beneath the cot. “How the hell did you even manage to drive up here?”

He groaned as he turned towards her, “Very carefully.”

She rummaged through the box, pulling out the supplies, “I should drag your ass to a hospital.”

“Yeah, you do that.”

Karen sighed and got to work, comforted in the fact that his sarcasm remained intact.

As she cleaned away the dried blood, she raised an eyebrow at him. “I see you managed to grab the dog, but couldn’t shoot me a text.”

The grin he gave her was sheepish. “He knows the drill. I was a little focused on trying to make it here undetected.”

She rolled her eyes. “I take it last night went less than ideal?”

He watched her prepare the sutures, “That’s one way to put it.” Karen hummed and set to the task. “How long did this bleed for?”

“Not long. It’s just a scalp wound. Sounds like your lunches with Claire have been more than just a social visit.”

Karen pursed her lips as she pulled the strand through, “Yeah, well, it’s more to save her from getting out of bed every time you wind up like this.”

He let out a little humph, “This is nothing,” and let her work in peace. When she finished, she eyed her the stitched line. One thing she could say was she was getting better. Unfortunately, the only reason was he made for frequent practice.

“Hey.” Frank took her hand in his, “I am sorry about the text.”

She gave his hand a squeeze, “I know.”

A whine at the door drew their attention to the restless dog. “I’ll take him out. Are you sure you’re ok? You’re not going to pass out on me while I’m gone.”

“Page, take the damn dog out. This is a fucking papercut.”

Karen stood and put Max on the leash, cooing words of endearment as she took him outside.

His head did ache, but the broken ice pack she left him was taking away the edge. When he had woken to her just a few minutes earlier, the blond halo and soft voice transported him to another life. One where his wife was waking him from a nightmare. Patient and calm.

Frank didn’t like to think about what Maria would say regarding the choices he’d made. It’d probably break her heart to see him chasing after another war, (even if it was one he needed).

One thing he could be sure about was that she’d approve of Karen. _She’s smart. Just what you need. She seems good for you Frank._

He had always told her, if he didn’t come back to not waste the rest of her life alone. If not for her sake, then for the kids. Told her not to let them grow up without a father.

It left him bitter. All that planning. All the forms. All the hypothetical If _I don’t make its,_ all the tearful goodbyes.

And they were the ones that were gone.

Fucking cruel.

The creak of the door broke his train of thought. Karen sniffed at the autumn air as Max shook himself, his collar jingling with the movement.

“Frank,” She stiffened, recognizing his far off look.

“I’m ok.”

She nodded and let him be. Karen started heating up the coffee in silence. These moments didn’t bother her. They didn’t make her uneasy, he just needed time.

Time to collect the thoughts and quiet. She followed his lead. Karen had made a rule with herself. Unless it was related to a story…or he felt like he needed to talk about it (which was rare), she didn’t question him for details about his work as the Punisher.

She was comfortable living with the shades of grey. It was the color she had always lived in.

 

 

**Author's Note:**

> I feel like it’s a little mundane because it’s Karen and Frank navigating relationship stuff (again haha) but I honestly had a lot of fun writing this one-more than usual. The flow was a little easier. Towards the end it kind of became little snap shots. 
> 
> Thank you so much for reading and commenting! I hope you all know how much it means <3  
> Find me on [tumblr](http://lightofpage.tumblr.com/)


End file.
